


Breathe Deep, Breathe Clear

by Naleakem



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Alternate Universe - Medieval, Alternate Universe - Steampunk, F/M, Romance, Smut, Tags to be added, Vigilante, Vigilante AU, in the future there may be minor, it's gonna be littt, kind of, prince Adrien
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-13
Updated: 2017-01-17
Packaged: 2018-08-22 04:11:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,459
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8272298
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Naleakem/pseuds/Naleakem
Summary: Marinette Dupain-Cheng meets vigilante and secret prince Chat Noir, a masked hero, and is inspired to change the world for the better and to follow in her parent's footsteps (this is merely the beginning, my friends)





	1. Prologue - A Masked Hero

**Author's Note:**

> Well hello! This is my first ML fanfic on AO3, and I hope you like it :)  
> Idk what else to say, this is a prologue but VERY IMPORTANT cause it's a first meeting - please read it and enjoy, and follow me on social media:
> 
> tumblr: @naleakem

It was a sunny, inconspicuous Tuesday when Marinette’s entire life changed. The birth of the dawn light, rosy golden fingers stretching in rays that dispersed the stars into the blue, was the very beginning. She did not wake up in a pleasant haze of post-slumber, lazily stretching her arms before slipping off her nightgown in favor of a pair of baggy brown pants and shirt to run off to work (she was always late for work.) No, this very unpleasantly fateful day had her waking call changed from the calm of birds chirping to the scream of a young woman. It was a sound that cut through the air like a dagger and Marinette could hardly blink away the early-morning water in her eyes before she sat up. She pressed the back of her wrists against the sockets and stood, snatching her woolen coat and storming through the halls of her house. She was running purely on curiosity and that insensible brain of someone who’d just been jostled awake.

Her heavy door was swung open as she stepped out into the chill of a frosty October morning. The cold hit her before the visuals did. She jumped and quickly shoved both of her arms into her coat, which had previously been tightly clutched in her hand. Marinette found herself walking quicker than she should be possible to in this cold down the street before she had time to think herself fully through. It was instinct – probably genes from her late parents. She could catch the sound of a violin flowing through the alley beside her in a sluggish way due to the tension in the air. 

She fished greedily in her mind for inferences of what could be happening only behind the next corner, around a tall building made of only rotting wood. She broke out into a brisk jog, turning the corner and setting her eyes upon the visual of what she’d heard before. The person who had screamed was short and had hair cut to her shoulders. Marinette could see right over her. Although she was also rather short, this woman was even shorter. Above her head, Marinette could see the view of a man with slouching shoulders and bags under his eyes so dark they looked like bruises. His hair was shaggy and his clothes were ripped. He was perfect example of a rebel. Marinette had always imagined rebels to look like him, dark and foreboding, weak looking and snapping with a bite that could take off your finger. They were deadly when they wanted to be.

The man held a gun. 

This was something that made Marinette stop in her tracks. The rebel man turned to look at her, yellow teeth bared above chapped lips so bad they were bleeding. He aimed the gun at her abdomen and his bared teeth turned to a grin, a maniacal type of grin that sent a chill down her spine, also bringing with it the beating of her heart to her ears. 

Marinette had only seen a few guns in her life. They were either from her father and mother or from the castle guard who came to their bakery while journeying somewhere far away. How did this man, this man who she assumed must have been a rebel, get his hands on a handgun? When she looked down, Marinette could see her quick, billowing breath visible like little clouds of fog in the icy breeze.

It wasn’t short after that the people near the man, watching with worry in their eyes, started to turn their anxious gazes to where she stood, at the target of the man’s aim. And then everything happened too fast for Marinette to even process her jumbled thoughts. It began with a flash of black from a stout rooftop, the thump of someone landing interesting and taking every single person’s wondering gaze – even the rebel.

His grin fell as he turned to look at the stunt-daring newcomer. Marinette gave him a quick once-over, as intimidating as possible as her parents had taught her. The person who had jumped was a young male. The first thing she noticed was his hair, in contrast with his black outfit: it was a messy bunch of blonde perched atop his head, strewn in not much of a rebel way. It was more in a disheveled and dangerous type of thing that she could recognize. The next thing that she noticed about him were his eyes. They were the color of the leaves on an apple, but more striking. The green bore into the rebel man with ferocity and confidence that Marinette had never been able to muster. At first glance, she concluded that he was over-prideful in himself. 

This man – should she call him a boy instead? – did not look like he could face off with someone with a gun. His stature told her that was what he was planning on doing, anyway. Despite his smirk, she knew that the staff on his back would be no match for a gun. Guns were fast and deadly. A staff could maybe give someone a nice bump on their head if you hit hard enough. Throughout her examination of this newcomer, Marinette forgot to notice one thing: he wore a mask. It was a small mask, small enough to only go over his nose and around his eyes, and it was a couple shades darker than the rest of his dark, dusty midnight attire. Hidden identity, perhaps?

“Who’re you, kid?” the rebel man spoke. 

Marinette almost flinched. His voice was gravelly and deep, like he had been smoking cigarettes every single hour of his life and swallowing cobblestone chunks for a living. He sounded like someone who would take you into an alley to kill you slowly and surely, enjoying every single second. The man-boy did not flinch at all. He stood maybe even taller and looked the rebel right in his purple-adorned darkening eyes. The rebel raised his gun and pursed his lips. Marinette stood staring at this situation unfold, wondering if she should do anything, bare feet numbing on the cold stone below her. The boy was to her left, the moldy wooden building on her right, and the rebel right in the middle of the street.

“In the suit,” the boy paused to gesture down at his clothing, “I’m known as Chat Noir. And you are?”

The rebel huffed, and raised his gun a little higher. His finger was poised on the trigger. After a moment he seemed a little miffed that this ‘Chat Noir’ was not intimidated whatsoever by his gun. Instead of a polite introduction, the rebel snarled.

“Ah. I see,” Chat Noir hummed, tapping his pink bottom lip with his index finger absentmindedly. “Do you want to know what I think?”

“Go to hell.”

“I think that you should probably just tell these innocent people that your gun isn’t loaded,” Chat Noir told him. Marinette’s brows rose. Oddly enough, a bout of relief washed through her after he said it even though he could be mistaken. She could be staring at a boy who would be dead in a few more seconds. 

Fortunately, instead of dying, Chat Noir just smiled. The rebel’s sunken eyes widened and he gaped at him for a moment before toughening up again. “How do you know that, Betsy?”

“Ahem, I thought I made this clear,” Chat Noir said, “it’s Chat Noir. Ch-at N-oi-r.” He spoke each syllable as if he was talking to a five year old. “And, on the other thing…”

Chat Noir sauntered forward and Marinette she thought she saw the rebel’s hand waver just a little bit. She watched in absolute awe as he drew his staff and knocked the gun out of the rebel’s hands, backing up and catching it in his own in the span of one second. How does a person move so quickly, so gracefully, in such a small amount of set time?

The rebel made an outraged little shout, looking at his still outreached empty hand with gritted teeth.

“See…” Chat Noir raised the gun so its barrel pressed against the side of his head. Marinette’s heart started to race again, but shock made it so she couldn’t say anything. “I can prove it to you.” His gaze swept around the small crowd of people that had gathered warily around the threat and what could possibly be their hero or a casualty before they were all injured or dead. 

Her eyes widened as she watched, unable to look away. 

Click.

A small scream escaped her throat before she could stop it, stumbling forward a few steps. She heard gasps and scuffling and stared with shuddering breaths at the very much still alive Chat Noir standing with a now known as empty gun pressed to his head. “See?” he said again, eyes settling on Marinette with brows drawn after she screamed, “not a single bullet.”

The semi-circular people all stared. Every single one of them had their eyes on the center of that street, at Chat Noir and a weaponless rebel tripping a step backwards, right into a plump woman who’d walked forward. She squeaked and he stumbled then back into the center, looking rather terrified now. Guards then came on horseback, as they always did when there was commotion. The trot of the steeds on broken stone created a series of clicks and the rebel stared at them in a daze. 

“Here you are, kind sirs,” Chat Noir gave all three of the guards a smile, walking forward to grab the rebel’s shoulders and push him forward as one of the men dismounted.

“Who are you?”

“Your partner in law enforcement,” Chat Noir said, as if it was obvious.

“What?”

“I’m helping. That’s all you really need to know. Now, take this criminal who was attempting to rob helpless citizens into custody for trial. You’re welcome.”

At that, he handed the officer the gun and left the rebel to be gripped by him. Marinette turned to watch as he began to leave, black clothing standing out among the pastels and browns of their town. She ran forward without thinking, as he was just about to disappear into an alley. She grabbed his arm. Marinette didn’t know why she did it, but it felt like it needed to be done. She wasn’t sure what she had been planning to say to him once he was caught, but she’d gotten this far.

Chat Noir turned to her, tilting his head. “Miss?”

“W-what?” she asked breathily, shivering in the cold. 

Chat caught on to this quickly. “Oh! You’re cold, take this!”

He took off his black coat, exposing a short-sleeved shirt that left his arms bare. “What?” Marinette hadn’t realized that she let go of his arm when he’d taken off his coat. He was holding it out to her now, the light of dawn brightening his eyes and his hair. “Oh, no no, I can’t take your coat!”

“Pfft,” he scoffed. “You need it. I can deal with a little cold.”

“R-really?”

“Of course. You’re wearing what…silk pajamas?”

Marinette looked down at her outfit and suddenly remembered that she had actually left her house in her favorite lilac silk nightgown. It ended at her knees and left her legs and feet to fend for themselves in the cold. She reached forward and let her hand clutch around the jacket, discovering that it was leather. She automatically wondered how he had acquired such an expensive material. Marinette looked up at those green eyes and took the jacket, draping it across her shoulders and hugging it across her breasts. It smelled like him, two distinct scents combining into one: caramel and pine. They were odd together. Marinette liked it.

“Y-yeah,” her teeth chattered. He turned to leave again before she called out, “will you need your jacket back?”

“It’s all yours, Princess,” he replied, amused.

As she was about to pivot and walk back home, she caught one last gesture. Chat Noir turned back towards her, their eyes meeting, and her head tilted. He let a sweet, almost caring smile come across his face and then finished it off with a swift wink and a two-fingered salute. He raced away then, the elegance of his movements reminding Marinette of her mother, a dancer turned vigilante. She was left to stare after him. She was still in awe and a rush of appreciation and stinging in her toes combining to give her a weird sense of freedom. She walked back home with her nose buried in the impossibly warm leather of Chat Noir’s jacket.


	2. One: A Prince

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey look I put Plagg in there ur welcome have a nice day or night  
> (And I think this fanfic is kinda steampunk medieval)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HEY!! Sorry it's been quite a while since I began this fanfiction, but I thought I'd drop in a super short chapter to let you know this is 100% going to be continued. 
> 
> Follow me on tumblr to rant about stuff @naleakem

The darkness was invigorating. It swirled in the green leaves, in the slow rising of the sunlight, in the burning in Adrien’s muscles. He felt amazing when he ran like this, like the world was suddenly so much bigger than anything he’d previously thought, like he had a purpose. That was it. A purpose. The chill of a winter morning left his ears red, his nose red, his cheeks red, his throat burning - his breath puffed white into the frosty air, slowly melting to display the little amount of warmth allowed in winter. Adrien licked his lips and pushed himself to run a little faster. The cold air on his bare arms was new but not unpleasant. He would laugh if he could. Plagg was going to kill him for giving away his jacket, the one hand-sewn from the finest leather, insulated and yet breathable enough that he could go on runs like this to catch the train. This time, he had to go even faster than usual. He wasn’t used to going so far out into towns over twenty-five miles from the castle, his usual range of action. 

Unfortunately, he’d had plausible reason for believing that a rebel would be wrecking havoc on a nearby innocent town. He scoffed after jumping over a rock in the middle of the path he was taking. The town was hardly nearby. He’d only heard of it from one of the knights he was friends with back at the castle, as she liked to go on and on about how Meirjing just had simply the most wonderful sewers. Of course, as he usually did, Adrien went on to do a quick check up on this Meirjing. His interest peaked when he discovered it was the birthplace of Tom and Sabine Dupain-Cheng, two of the most revolutionary vigilantes of the century and his main personal inspiration for joining the cause himself. 

Despite usually loving the feel of a good run, Adrien was beyond relieved when he jumped up on the back of the train heading northward. He was able to hide himself away in a tight corner of the back until the train began moving, at which point he could stand and lean on the railing overlooking the tracks. This area was surrounded by towering mountains, green at the bottom from flocks of trees and growth that shifted sharply to sparse grey stone and snow-peaked ridges once they hit the clouds. Adrien hardly ever got to see this part of the range up close and he leaned forward a little farther for a better view. It really was beautiful. And a perfect place to set up a vigilante and/or rebel base. He was beginning to like this Meirjing. 

~-~

“You did what?”

Adrien flinched back at the tone in Plagg’s voice. He really was angry.

“I’m sorry!” he blurted, “but there was a cold girl in a nightgown in front of me! With no shoes! No shoes, Plagg!”

Plagg rolled his eyes. “Do you know how expensive it was to make that jacket?”

He didn’t want for Adrien to respond. “Very expensive, Adrien!”

Adrien nodded and sat down. “I understand, but she was cold.”

His stylist’s glare was icy. “Really, was she? I bet she could’ve walked right back home in hardly no time at all without your jacket.”

“You didn’t put the emblem in it or anything, right?”

Plagg looked beyond offended now. “Why in the world would I put the royal emblem on your vigilante jacket?”

Adrien shrugged helplessly.

“That’s such an amateur move, and I’m no amateur,” Plagg informed him. He ran his long fingers through his hair, shaggy yet cut short and raven-black, and said simply, “I need to get some food,” before running off to find said food.

Adrien rested his chin on his hands and wrinkled his nose. It was tingling now from the drastic change in temperature once he’d climbed up the small abandoned service entrance and to Plagg’s room. He stood after a moment and walked over to the several full-length body mirrors covering up a large portion of Plagg’s wall. He undid the clasps held tight on the back of his mask and peeled it off his face. He reached up with his arm to wipe away some of the sweat on his brow and then began to redirect his hair to its usual style. The mussed, windblown do was for his alternate persona. He parted it harshly and swept the majority of his hair to one side before realizing it was actually the wrong side and swept it the other way instead. 

Plagg came back soon after, munching ravenously on a medium-sized wedge of camembert. He ranted for a another few minutes about Adrien’s jacket and wiped down his mask before finally asking about the actual success or failure of his nighttime rendezvous. 

“There was a rebel in Meirjing. You know Meirjing?”

Plagg laughed a little. “Yes, of course. They have wonderful fashion there, although they’re hardly known, are they not?”

“I only just learned that Meirjing existed, so you’d be right.”

“You didn’t know it existed?”

He shook his head. 

Plagg turned to face him and tucked Adrien’s mask back into his hand, brows furrowed. “How does that work? That’s where the Dupain-Cheng’s lived, for heaven’s sake!”

“I know.”

“Well, now you do.”

Talking to Plagg wasn’t always the easiest thing to do in the world, but Adrien managed to inform him of the details of his fight and how he knew the gun wasn’t loaded because of the rebel’s personality. Plagg huffed at that part, “That sounds dangerous. Why didn’t you just shoot the gun at the sky instead?”

“I wanted it to be more dramatic. I have to get my name out there. Be remembered.”

“And killed, it seems.”

Adrien narrowed his eyes. His actions seemed rather justified to him. Why was Plagg being so judgmental? If he wanted dramatic, memorable flare then he did just the right thing. And that was what he wanted. 

~-~

He was lectured later by his father for being late to a meeting, which wasn’t all that eventful. Adrien was lectured often for even the tiniest things. He seemed to be always messing up and his father always stressed. The latter was understandable, as being the sole ruler of a kingdom still grieving a dead queen made for a stress-filled life without much goodness. Adrien winced when he thought of his mother. He didn’t want to cry right after a lecturing. He rushed out of his father’s office and back to his own room.

Sleeping was no use now that he was thinking. His bed felt a little too squishy, so he switched to his floor and stared up at the roof. He thought about that girl. Adrien felt a little guilty for giving up his jacket. Plague would have to make a new one for him if he wanted to protect people during the rest of the season. It was only the beginning of wintertime. Meirjing still had green trees, as if the entire town and forest surrounding had skipped autumn. It was like something out of a fairytale, a lovely little pastel and brown town in the midst of a forest bursting with desperate leaves and flowers while frost spread on the ground and snow began to fall. Adrien considered visiting the town again the next day, but he dismissed the idea soon after. Today was his only day off of his morning duties and mandatory meetings, so he’d had the luxury of going out. The next day, he’d have no time at all to go back.

Adrien rolled around on the floor like a dropped needle for a few moments to get to his desk with the lack of motivation he currently had. He reached up and grunted as he succeeded in grabbing his notepad and dropping it on his face. He forced himself to sit, much to his disappointment, and wrote down a note to himself that he should visit Meirjing the next time he was able to put his mask on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed this little inside view into Adrien's life kinda-ish sort of? This is hardly anything but I felt the need to give you guys at least SOMETHING. Sorry for it being so short (not even 1500 mark) ! Leave a comment and kudos if you enjoyed even the tiniest bit, and tell me things you might want out of this fanfic and maybe I'll use your idea ^-^

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so please, please review! It would mean the world to me, and this is an un-beta-ed fic so far (btw message me on tumblr if you are interested in being a beta for this fic!!) and I need reviews to improve later chapters. Thank you! (this is supposed be kind of medieval-esque, but not completely)


End file.
